


i live and lie for you

by grahamcockroach



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Vaguely Medieval setting, gay monarchs, john is pretty chill lol, knight!John, prince!roger, roger is hyper as hell, the opposite of slow burn, this was born out of ao3 being down on jan 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamcockroach/pseuds/grahamcockroach
Summary: Roger was never supposed to be in a position of such high regard to warrant him being appointed a personal guard, but an unfortunate string of tragedies leave him as crown prince.John had trained for knighthood from a young age, and is chosen to serve a prince.also they're gay
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 100
Kudos: 35





	1. prologue

Roger hated meetings.

He hated how slow they were, he hated how serious they were, he hated how everyone spoke down to him.

They were so much worse now that he had to attend  _ every single one,  _ instead of having the excuse of not having a future as a 'real royal leader' to spare himself from them. The empty chairs beside him were only an extra stab in the gut.

He wasn't ever supposed to be in this position, but one by one, within the short frame of a few months, his fate was slowly sealed. He was his mother's 6th and second-last child. the chance of him  _ ever  _ having real political power was so minuscule he never considered the possibility. 

It began when his oldest brother, Rolan, died from complications after being kicked by a horse.

Evodkia, his oldest sister, died after severe head trauma resulting from falling down the stairs. 

Katya died from a disease contracted by a rare bug, after weeks of sickness.

Petia had been murdered by her husband while visiting him in his home country.

And Adrian had passed from exhaustion, after working on a novel of his for three straight days. 

Leaving Roger as the crown prince.

That meant a myriad of new duties, things to learn, people to know... it was overwhelming; especially along with grieving the passing of 5 people who were so close to him, and the newly emerged fear of anything in the fashion of his siblings was to come upon him. 

He hated what his future looked like now. He was not  _ at all  _ prepared for this situation, not once in his young life.

"Roger! Roger are you not listening? This is important!" He was literally snapped out of his thoughts when Collin (his father’s assistant) snapped his fingers in front of his face.

Roger threw himself into sitting with his back straight and eyes open, at attention. "Sorry," was all he managed to say, not that anything else needed to be said.

"Anyway," another royal attendant sighed, "we were getting to the requirements you now have as crown prince. You will need to attend more out-of-town events, and not to frighten you, but people  _ will  _ want you dead. So, you need a knight. We figured handing down Prince Rolan's to you would be in poor taste. So we've decided to look through young knights from across the land, find some good enough to be yours and we hope to have appointed one to you shortly," he explained in a dreary voice, dropping a small pile of papers in front of the King.

Roger nodded along to his words. "Wow, so I'm special enough to have my own swordsman now?"

The young prince's laughing was interrupted by the king loudly banging his fist on the table, wordlessly telling Roger to shut up.

Apparently being the heir to a stupid fucking outdated system of government means you can't have any fun, either.

"Meeting adjourned. You are all dismissed." the king announced. Roger smiled and pushed his chair back, more than ready to leave- "Except Roger." he slumped back into his uncomfortable chair.

He hated meetings.


	2. ch.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger meets the candidates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ROACH UPDATING A MULTICHAPTER??? on TIME??? fucking unheard of
> 
> anyway i hope this is ok lol . also ive decided to have shorter chapters just to..... artificial pacing <3

Only three weeks after his brother, Adrian’s memorial service, he was meeting who he would spend the rest of his life with (not romantically, of course), but a knight; the person who would literally die for them without a moment's hesitation.

It was decided for him that there would be multiple candidates, where they would complete a short trial, and the winner would become Roger’s personal knight. It seemed everyone wished for a most trustworthy person to do that job, as only Roger and his sister were left of the eligible heirs to the country. 

_ “They’ve each been hand-picked from regions across the land, all of them highly acclaimed warriors of great strength and morals, only the best for the future king, hmm?”  _ Roger remembered Collin telling him. Roger hated Collin.

On a chilly early-Spring morning, he was awoken  _ long  _ before his body was meant to be conscious. Today, as Clare talked his ear off about it, was the day he would meet the person who would work as his guard, likely until either of them died. Freddie was awfully excited as well, 

As unenthusiastic as he was about having a personal knight, he decided it would be good to make a first impression that wasn’t horrible. 

He washed his hair so it would have that nice curl effect to it and dressed in his favourite frilled red shirt with gold trimming to match his hair. 

Collin came knocking on his door, his incessant knocking telling Roger exactly who was at the door. He didn’t understand how nobody else was annoyed to hell and back by him.

Roger was led to the second hall; and as if he were an apparition, his father's voice materialized behind him only to tell him to fix his posture.  _ Had he nothing better to do than trail Roger like a lost puppy? _

__ Roger went to grab the door handle, Collin physically stopped him by shoving an arm into his face. “Your highness, before you go in:  _ don’t  _ fumble this, I never wanted to have to work with you, and now that you’re in this position, I will be sure you don’t do the same thing you do with every other thing you do in your life. Now try to make yourself not look like a sod and try to not ruin your family name.”

Roger inhaled sharply, ready to retaliate, but Collin threw open the door before he could say anything. Collin had got away with being a prick, for the king adored him. 

In the hall stood 4 people in decorated armour, each likely representing the regions they came from. They stood at attention, shoulders back and blank expressions on their faces. Roger found it rather creepy when he got closer and they didn’t move at all,  _ are they even breathing?  _

__ His rhetorical question was answered when they all got down to their knees when he got about halfway to them, it forced a gasp out of his lungs and he nearly tripped over the carpet in surprise. 

Roger  _ loathed  _ being treated like the royal he was arbitrarily born into being. Nobody other than his sister and Freddie treated him like a person, since his siblings and mother passed, and he knew it would only get worse with his newfound status as crown prince. 

The one on the far right introduced herself first, “Viktor Dulik from Crasceni, your highness,” he said, and it went down the line.

“John Deacon from the Midlands, your highness.” was the last one of the four. 

Unlike the others, John had a smaller build, was around the same height as him, and had the most beautiful wavy brown hair he had ever seen. Speaking of his eyes, his were a wonderful shade of muted green. His face looked as if it had been sculpted by the greatest chiseler in all the land, everything down to his lips were more beautiful than he ever thought those features could be.

Unfortunately, it was only a second that John was looking up at him, his gaze fell back on the floor. The knight was probably going to be scolded later for breaking protocol. 

Roger  _ loathed  _ the stupid protocol. 

***

They sat at a long table, not as long as the one in the great hall but still rather long and had lunch. Probably would have been awkward if they were just standing around and doing nothing while discussing a rather important matter about Roger’s future. 

Every ruling monarch had their own knight, as did those next in line for the throne, it was a tradition as well as a necessity for the safety of the one being guarded. The trials and picking of warriors became ingrained in the tradition shortly after the country was established, too many incompitent applicants came for the job without the restriction. 

The knights didn’t speak very much, he couldn’t tell if they were just like that, had been trained to act that way, or feared the wrath of the monarchy. All of which were understandable, but still was disappointing for Roger. He wished at least the brunette spoke a little more, other than his introduction he only heard him thank another knight for passing a water pitcher. 

It was explained to him that there would be trials, likely to last a month, of which two candidates would be eliminated to narrow it down to two of the greatest knights in the lands for him. Once the two ‘winners’ were picked the choice would be left to Roger, the leftover three would be gifted to the current king’s guard.

_ Why couldn’t you have told me this while they weren’t in the room? I feel bad having them here while you’re talking about them like that,  _ he thought, before realizing that they had probably already been told so before they came. 

He didn’t see the knights for a while after that, but John stuck in his head. _Was it because of that one second their eyes locked when he looked up at him?_ Roger pondered. He was rather beautiful. Roger hoped he would come back as one of his picks. 

***

“Well, what I’m getting at is, I really hope it can be him, he’s the only one who doesn’t act like a complete twat. And the closest to my age, so it would be less creepy having him around. He’s nice to look at too.” Roger rambled, laying on the floor of Freddie’s studio as his friend worked on a commission. 

“So you’re saying you like him?” 

“No! I’ve barely spoken to the man, you can think someone looks good without wanting to be with them!” Roger retaliated by kicking his friend’s leg. 

“Alright, just saying I won’t be surprised when your next family portrait has him in it.” Roger only responded with an embarrassed grunt. 

“He probably resents me though,” Roger whined, “I don’t know why, he probably does though. I don’t know why he’s gotten into the profession but he’s probably done it his whole life, and- bleck- stop!” Roger scrambled off the ground when Freddie began flicking paint at him. 

“Quit talking like that! it’s annoying, plus it ought to make you feel pretty shit, talking about yourself like that,” the painter scolded him before returning to his work. 

***

The month of trials concluded on a sunny Thursday. He wasn’t allowed to watch or hear anything about how the trials were going. He hoped the brunette from the Midlands was still there, he knew nothing about him, but that one look, the one time they locked eyes remained in his memory. Roger desperately wished to learn more about him. 

__ He let out a sigh of relief when his father told him John had won, alongside the Druzkivian called Viktor.

Now it was time for Roger to choose.

Viktor was not great to hang around. He was nice, yes, held the door for him and all, but he couldn’t hold a conversation about anything more complex than the weather. Someone he would not want to be spending the rest of his life with. 

John Deacon, an Englishmen from the East Midlands. He was stoic and quiet, but surprisingly easy to bring out of his shell, even if just a little. 

_ “So what do you do for fun? Y’know, when you aren’t being paid to stand and look angry?” Roger asked, leaning against the table, leisurely eating from a tray of fancy snacks. _

_ “Well I’m not being paid, and my job is more than looking angry, but I like music and did engineering in school,” he answered, a blank expression on his face. _

_ “You like music? I do as well, I can play the zither and guitar, and a couple more I learned when I was a kid. What else do you do? You’re already more talkative than the others,” John shrugged. Roger spoke again, “where do you want to go with your life? I don’t want to have you stuck with me if you wish to not spend the rest of it as my guard.”  _

_ John paused. _

_ “I’ve trained my whole life to be one, so I wouldn’t expect to be anything else. It’s my duty in life to protect someone, and if our fates align then it’s my duty to protect you.” _

_ “Ooh, fates? You’re the most interesting candidate of the four- well, two of you, I’d like to spend more time with you.”  _

_ “It’s your choice, your highness.” _

_ “Can you call me Roger?” the prince snapped just as John finished his sentence, “I hate formalities like that.” _

_ Roger looked back at the knight just in time to see a little smile appear on his lips. His eyes crinkled a little bit when he did. “No problem, Roger,” he said more lightheartedly. Roger swore he could see the semblance of a little tooth gap in his smile.  _

_ If that day when Roger was presented with the candidates in the second hall hadn’t solidified his choice, today did. _

__ He was called to his father’s study just before noon.

“Which one did you prefer?” Collin asked. His father was in the room, hunched over a pile of papers as he always was. 

“J- uh, the one from the Midlands, John, I think? John Deacon.” Roger stammered. Collin, surprisingly, nodded in approval, the first time in Roger’s life he remembered agreeing on something with him. 

That day John was at the dinner table, as was the other winner. They didn’t speak, barely even crossed each other’s eye, sitting on opposite ends of the hall due to forces outside of his control, but it was nice to see him there. 

The process to officially bond John as Roger’s knight was going faster than expected, luckily. The ceremony was only two days from today, and it would be today if preparations didn’t need to be made. After that, Roger would finally know what hid behind his pretty face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: i named collin after an asshole i had in my science class last year


	3. ch.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's accolade and a smidge of backstory.

The accolade was today. John was to be introduced to the royal court and take the vow to ‘ _live and lie’_ for the prince. Almost like a marriage vow, but without the promises of love; simply a legal and spiritual bond to each other:, John was to protect Roger with his life, and Roger was to bring him purpose. 

Roger was able to convince his valet to let him forego the traditional clothes, (which had the stupidest looking tights and shoes in existence) and instead opt for something that was more suited to him: a dark red cape, and bright yellow ruffled and embroidered shirt and pants, sleek black shoes and ruby red hair pins. 

Now that he was in the great hall, it did almost look like a wedding. The carpet was long and went from the door to the platform, where a small throne was. Nobody was there yet, and he was led to a small room in the back so he could be “greeted properly” after everyone was seated.

He hated stupid royal traditions. 

Noise buzzed in the hall, people all speaking and sitting in their spot. The chairs and tables had been replaced with long benches, resembling church pews. Today’s ceremony doubled as Roger’s ceremony of succession and his and John’s bonding.

Outside, he heard someone - probably Collin - quiet the crowd down. His father came in through the main door, he heard from it’s loud _creak_ that nobody cared to fix, and soon he was called out.

The crowd was bigger than he expected, mostly nobles and their families, but also what looked like most people who worked in the castle, and a few people he didn’t recognize. There was a woman and a teenage girl in one of the front rows, who looked similar to John, _must be his family there._ Clare was sitting in the front row, and threw him a short, but supportive smile.

Freddie was sat near Clare, sending him a little wave. Roger cracked a little smile in response. 

A ceremony of succession hadn’t taken place in over a century, it was a rare thing for people to die the way Roger’s older siblings did, so some must have been there for the _“historical significance.”_

John still wasn’t there.

Roger was sat down at the red cushioned throne, the material a little brighter than the colour of his cape. His father stood just behind him, staring at the door at the other end of the hall with one hand resting on the back of the chair; the other side was empty, where John would stand afterwards. Roger bit his lip a little, nervous to have been put on display like this. 

Roger stared at the floor in front of him blankly, trying to throw off all the eyes boring into him.

Soon enough, John’s presence was announced, Roger tore his eyes off the ground and to the door. 

The doors were opened by two servants, John standing behind them. 

He wore the same armour from the day Roger first met him, but his hair was down instead of loosely tied back, green fabric visible underneath. 

Unlike a wedding, there was no music while John walked down the aisle, only the sound of his heavy boots coming down on the carpeted stone floor. 

He stepped up onto the little platform Roger sat on, unsheathing his sword and dropping it in front of him, it fell with a muffled clang, kneeling with his gaze to the floor. 

He had seen Evodkia and Katya each go through this, so he knew what he was to do next. He stood and grabbed John’s sword from the floor, it was heavy with a shiny silver blade, red fabric wrapping at the grip which John had likely added himself, and a tiny green jem in the circular pommel; the same shade of green that peeked out under his armour and in his eyes. 

When Roger straightened his posture back up, sword in both hands, the minister who he didn’t notice came up beside him and started speaking. He spoke partially in regular English, and the rest in an ancient tongue reserved to be learnt by respected religious leaders.

Eventually, Roger was given the go-ahead to finalize the oath, lightly tapping both of John’s shoulders with the flat side of his blade. 

John stood. Roger handed back his sword, their hands lightly brushing each other. The knight sheathed his sword before standing in the empty spot adjacent the king. The room erupted in brief cheers, before the minister shushed the room. 

The ceremony of succession was mostly just prayers, so Roger was able to tune a good bit of it out. Instead, his thoughts were taken up with anxiety of what John would be like. He would find out soon enough, but his curiosity was beginning to eat at him.

Roger had a tiny bit of insight as to what John’s mindset would be, as Roger himself at the age of 7 was sent off to learn the ways of knighthood, though his training would likely be different than what a peasant’s would be. One of the very last official events all of his siblings had attended was Roger’s own knighthood being finalized at his 21st birthday. 

He looked back behind the chair, his eyes meeting John’s. The freshly knighted John smiled down at him for a moment, before they both snapped back to their previous position.

***

From the day John understood what the words meant, he knew his path was to become a knight. Usually, people began training at around 7 years old, but he started learning the basics at 5. 

By his 10th birthday, his father, who had been a knight until he sustained an injury that forever disrupted his mobility, had taught him a great array of skills:; he could ride on horseback (he began learning on piggyback, being too small to be able to ride a horse) and take care of those horses, he could fight with no weapon, climb, swim, javelin, and took quickly to archery. He had a natural talent to it, encouraged by his family and others in his village.

His future in knighthood was especially encouraged by his father.

His father would earnestly listen to John when speaking of his aspirations, even as a little babbling child. His mother was equally encouraging, she taught him how to keep his equipment in good condition and such. 

When his father passed away suddenly, his determination only grew stronger. 

His work soon paid off when he was assigned to serve a squire at 13. He learnt to play music, and became knowledgeable in world religions, manners of the upper-class, and dance. On the side, he was put into a city school around the same time where he learnt engineering. By that point, he had vowed to himself to be knighted by his 20th birthday. 

At 17, he was promoted to a squire, where he spent most of his time taking care of equipment and continuing with the training he began at the meager age of 5. 

John was hit with a stroke of luck when a royal carriage came in through the city one rainy morning. He was absolutely flabbergasted by their appearance at first, before connecting the events of the past couple months in his head.

Those past months, news of the first five children of the king had spread like wildfire as soon as it came out. The death of the crown prince Rolan passing in such an almost peasant-like manner had sparked a new cautionary tale of being safe around livestock, but also national mourning. Barely a week later, the death of princess Evodkia, resulted in the same. By the time news of the death of princess Katya came around, it had become commonplace to bet and gossip over how the next would be killed. 

It had turned out John was correct to make such a connection, as a man in posh clothing leaned out of the carriage door requesting the town come up with their greatest squire. 

John had been recommended by everyone they spoke to, and three days (and a few brief demonstrations) later he found himself on the long ride to the capital. 

-

He spent his time alone in the little mobile room, full of his suitcases and bags filled with his entire life, pondering if he really wanted this.

He never considered an alternative to it. It was almost a given to him, that he was born to be a knight. He wasn’t coerced, he did hold a real passion for what he did, but he never considered doing anything else, either. 

_Now really isn’t the time to reconsider your career choice, y’know,_ he told himself. 

To distract himself, he gazed out the window and forgot his thoughts. 

-

When he got to the palace, there were three other people, looking like they were in the same position as him. Unfortunately, he was not allowed to meet the prince until after the four of them went through a series of trials, to narrow them down to 2. The other 3 were marginally older than him, the second-youngest being 27. 

The first time he met the prince was a day after he arrived. The four were taken to an empty hall, the prince arriving shortly after.

Prince Roger was exceedingly beautiful, but also appeared to be uncomfortable. He had his hands held tightly together atop his chest, fidgeting and looking rapidly around the room. 

As he was instructed by the king’s _(arsehole)_ assistant, he bowed down in unison to the prince when he passed the second window, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. The carpet was dark green. 

The other three were before him to introduce themselves. He felt compelled to look up at Roger, he could just see who he assumed to be the prince’s brown shoes in front of him.

Before he left his hometown, he had been told by his peers at the bar that the prince was a sight to behold. None of them had seen him in person of course, only repeating what they had heard from people who said they had.

“John Deacon from the Midlands, your highness,” he spoke, deciding to hell with strict royal customs and looked up at the prince, just for a second. 

The rumours were more than true. The prince was _ethereal._ His hair was golden and fell on his face and shoulders in perfect waves, his heavy eyelids made his amazing bright eyes and long eyelashes an exquisite sight. His face was soft, but still masculine. His lips were light pink and almost heart-shaped.

Even if he never saw the prince again, he wanted the image of his face burned into his mind for as long as he lived. As soon as he looked up, he snapped his gaze back to the carpet.

He knew he would likely be scolded for his misconduct later, but he didn’t regret it.


	4. ch.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Roger spend the day together.

Roger woke up to the near-blinding sun directly in his face, pouring through the large windows of his room. It was a Sunday. The only thing he had on his schedule on Sundays were meals, so he had no worries of oversleeping. 

After a long while wallowing in the unbeatable comfort of his bed, he forced himself to get up. 

Officiating Roger’s new position as crown prince also entailed a long list of duties he had never needed to think of before. While Rolan was still alive, he had spent near all his days in complete freedom, aside from his studies and a few obligations. 

Luckily, he didn't have to worry about that just yet, because today was his first day with John.He had been advised to spend a good amount of time with John in the beginning, to make their legal bond more personal.

He quickly dressed in casual black slacks and a loose white shirt with flowy sleeves, a large contrast from the formalwear of yesterday’s accolade. He fixed his little pins and collar one last time, before running out into the hall to meet John properly.

Roger clearly hadn’t realized the level of force which he was running at, because the moment the door opened he couldn’t slow down and he slammed against the wall. He groaned in pain and sunk to the floor, grateful the hallway was seemingly empty. He moved to get up, but he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder-

“Are you alright?” a familiar voice asked politely. “I should have caught you, but I didn’t know you enjoyed sprinting so early in the morning.”

Roger scrambled to stand and fix himself, babbling incoherent apologies the whole way. He looked up to face John and he swore that for a second he could see the semblance of a smile on his face. 

“What do you get about on Sundays?” John asked, stopping the endless waterfall of apologies from Roger. 

The knight’s question snapped Roger out of his embarrassment. “There’s nothing on schedule today, so usually I just sit around and have leisure time. Sorry your first day isn’t too exciting.”

“Worry not over how entertained I am,” John replied, his eyes darting all over the hall at every decoration, painting and window. 

Roger stopped; he furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to remember  what he was supposed to do for John today. “Oh!” the prince turned on his heel to face John, “I’m supposed to tour you about, right?” 

-

For the next few hours, Roger paraded John around the halls, rooms, and the huge garden that sprawled across the castle grounds. The garden had a million different kinds of plants and trees and decorations, but simultaneously was neat and meticulously upkept. 

“Oh, should I show you my favourite flower? I should; come over-” Roger nearly skipped to a little stone path leading to a small island in the middle of a pond, attached by a thin bridge. 

Roger plopped to the ground next to a bush of magenta flowers. 

John knelt onto the grass beside Roger as he began pointing out all of the little details about the flowers. Roger spoke of all the plants as if they were conscious people with names and personalities, which John found oddly amusing. 

In the centre of the garden, a large, sat an elaborately carved granite and marble building, with a few gravestones neatly laid about the grass. Bright stained glass portraits of deities were bright along the walls of it.

Roger was still talking about his ranked list of his favourite flowers, and John found himself tuning the rambling prince out and staring at what he assumed was a mausoleum. 

“And then there’s- what’re you looking at?” John looked back at Roger, who’s expression and posture were now deflated. 

“Oh- I was just looking at that over there, it’s rather eye-catching,” he explained, pointing at the stone structure.

Roger glanced up at the building with a look that could only be described as a mix of disgust and sorrow, and quickly tearing his eyes away and focused back on John. “It’s- nice architecture, I guess. It’s cold out anyway, let’s go back.” the prince jumped up and marched back to the bridge. John didn’t notice any change in temperature.

John made a note to himself to never speak of the mausoleum again.

*** 

The very next day, yet another royal tradition was due to be done: John had to have his individual portrait painted and another with Roger. 

“It’s rather boring, but Freddie makes it less so. You’ll love him,” Roger rambled lightheartedly as they walked down the sunlit halls. 

John had never been the subject of a proper portrait before. He had the odd sketch of himself done by local artists, but not the finished, expensive, painted kind. 

They came to a door just down the hall out Roger’s chambers. The prince loudly, and with no warning to the poor soul inside, threw the door open.

“Fucking- Rog, someday you’re going to need to stop scaring me like that!” somebody scolded from a spot John couldn’t see. A man in a white shirt covered in dried paint ran out. 

“Would you like me to send someone to notify you of my presence in advance next time?” Roger joked. “Have you met John yet?”

“No, I haven’t, is- oh!” Freddie looked behind the prince at John, who was still silent behind him. “Are you John?” the painter extended his hand to the knight’s, who shook it graciously. 

“I am, you’re Freddie?” 

“No, I’m not,” for a second his smile was replaced with a look of contempt, but flipped right back to the smile. “I’m joking, darling, I am him.”

Roger was already standing by a mirror, looking rather frustrated trying to fix his hair. It was clear he had the gist of the ordeal. 

“Y’know, it’s kind of nice having someone who isn’t a royal in here for once,” Freddie admitted in a hushed tone. 

“Oh? Er, thank you?” John replied, taken aback by how lax Freddie was about the monarchy while the crown prince was only a few steps away. 

“Yeah, nobility tend to have… a certain way of posturing themselves. Rog over there isn’t too bad, but I guess it’s still nice to see someone who’s of the same social standing, kind of.” Freddie explained lightheartedly. 

“I hope I’m not too pompous for you,” John chuckled. He took the free moment to look around the room, the walls were near completely covered in canvases. Old kings, family portraits, more stylized works, and landscapes of all kinds. 

John caught Roger staring longingly at a portrait of seven people, ages ranging from a small girl to a young teenage boy. Roger’s eyes snapped to John’s, who turned away the very second. 

“You’re sketching us both today, right?” Roger’s voice echoed through the quiet room. 

“However long you’re willing to sit, I’ll work, but knowing you I’ll probably  _ maybe  _ get one sketch done.” Freddie teased as he rummaged through a large drawer, a pile of papers and art supplies discarded on the floor beside him. “I’ve never drawn him before, so I’ll probably need him longer than you anyway. Haven’t decided on a pose either, so have fun being my dolls for a few hours.”

“Are all these yours?” John asked. 

“I wish they were! No, I have to share this room with all the other fucks who get hired here. Some of it is, though. Now go sit over there, I’ve got my things and I don’t want to be wasting my natural light.” Freddie ordered. 

Roger skipped to the chair in front of the window, posing in a stereotypical damsel-in-distress position with his hand against his forehead and halfway sitting on the armrest; before leaning too far into it and almost falling back. John couldn’t help but laugh a little at the prince’s eccentricity, before following Roger to the window.

Freddie ordered them around for a good ten minutes before getting to work in a little moleskin-bound book. The artist had almost curled himself into the chair, so the book was resting upright against his legs and he could look at both the paper and Roger and John simultaneously. 

Freddie was extremely focused now, quickly taking glances up at his subjects and going right back to the paper. 

“Now we get to look at him curl in on himself like a pillbug for a few hours,” Roger mumbled, just loud enough for Freddie to hear it. 

John broke into a loud snort-laugh, completely messing up his pose and posture. 

Freddie clearly didn’t find it as funny, as seconds later Roger had a pencil hurled at his face. 

***

“Y’know, I was trained as a knight as well, when I was younger,” Roger brought up,  _ definitely not _ trying to impress John.

John smirked. “Really?”

“Mhmm, I went off to Ivredesen to serve a squire there when I was a kid,” he looked over to return John’s smirk. “I was really into archery when I was a teenager.”

“Oh really? Can you show me?”

Roger, showing no sign of his confidence deflating, jumped to his feet and theatrically bowed, holding his hand out for John to grab onto. 

-

Luckily it was still bright outside, so they could just head to the private courtyard and have adequate lighting. Roger dug out his set of bow and arrows, and led John down to what was now only his and Claire’s private courtyard. It was lit by the late afternoon sun, dyeing it a pretty orange colour.

Roger pointed to a circle of tree branches formed naturally by a branch long cut off, exclaiming that it would act as their target. He marched back to stand beside John, his cockiness not fading even as his hands fumbled to string his bow.

“Do you need help wi-”

“No! No, I’m fine!” Roger snapped back before John could finish. He flipped his hair out of his face, loaded an arrow, pulled back the string and aimed,  _ oh god why did I bring this up,  _ and let go. It whizzed through the air and hit the ‘target’, not quite on the bulls eye but in the general middle-area, enough to show that he was competent. His aim was shakier than he cared to admit and his vision was bad but only got worse in the odd lighting, so it was probably less on-target than he thought it was. 

“Not too horrible, was it?” Roger bragged, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“Not horrible, no,” he agreed. Roger handed him the bow, John loaded it faster than he ever thought a human could and shot it within seconds.

It landed right on the tiny dot in the middle, making Roger’s shot look pathetic. 

John looked back at him, the overblown confidence wiped off Rogers’s face. “Not bad?” the knight laughed. 

“Not bad.” Roger agreed, a newfound admiration for John settling in his soul. 

***

Night set in soon after they came back inside. 

They went their separate ways to their individual chambers, exchanging a quiet ‘g’night’. 

But Roger couldn’t sleep. 

No matter how much he moved or shifted or got up, how long he closed his eyes or anything, he couldn’t sleep.

After what felt like hours, he figured he wouldn’t be sleeping at all, and decided his time would be better entertaining himself in his studies rather than frustrate himself trying to fall asleep. He didn’t bother changing into something other than his bedclothes beyond putting socks on.

The sound of his zither being awkwardly plucked echoed through the hall. Whoever was playing it had a melody in their head and a knowledge of music, but likely had never touched a zither before based on the stilted manner of the sound. 

Roger tiptoed over to the door of his study, which he saw had at least one candle still lit. He tentatively peaked through the doorway, only for his eyes to be met with John sitting on the sofa. 

“John?” Roger croaked, going to stand behind him. John gasped, nearly dropping the delicate instrument and turned to look at Roger. 

“What are you doing up?” he exclaimed, his usual rehearsed, stoic tone was completely gone, he gently placed the zither on the table in front of him and removed his hands from it as if it would burn him. 

“I just couldn’t sleep, so no point in trying to get myself to,” he climbed over the back of the sofa and dropped himself beside John, who stood up the very second Roger touched the seat. 

“I’m sorry to be here without permission, and I’m sorry to touch your things- I’ll be off-” John frantically apologized, quickly making his way back into the hallway. 

“Wait- you don’t need to go, I think it’s nice.” Roger stood back up to grab John’s arm. “I really wouldn’t mind your company.”

For a moment, John looked at him in surprise, but slowly sat back down.

“Did you want to try playing that? You said you liked music, right?” Roger pestered. 

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have been touching your things without asking first,” he argued as Roger pulled the zither into the spot between them. 

“You weren’t too bad before, though!” Roger encouraged him. John sighed and finally silently agreed to stay. 

“Here, let me-” Roger put his hand over John’s, “you have to pluck them a certain way to have the sound come out right.” He placed the knight's callused fingers on the delicate strings. Roger pushed John’s finger down quickly, and a noise, quiet and unsteady, but better than what John was trying before, was emitted. “Like that!” he celebrated.

Roger looked at John, who looked like he was trying to suppress the smile on his face. 

“I’ve never played one of these before, but I did get rather decent at the guitar, y’know,” John mentioned. Roger immediately sprang into action, rolling off the couch in the most ungraceful manner and running to a closet in the corner of the room, emerging with a guitar case. 

“What songs can you play?” 

John paused to think. “I don’t remember the names well, but I can play them for you,” he flicked open the little clasps on the case, pulling out the old wood instrument. Roger moved to sit on the floor to make room for the neck.

John near silently tuned the strings, the only accompanying noise was the wind and crickets out the window. 

He tested his tuning job by strumming a few quiet notes, “I can't sing, though, so I hope you like instrumentals.” 

He started to play an old folk song, one everyone would sing in school as small children. They both had heard it a million times, but the tune was still beautiful. Roger couldn’t take his eyes away from John. He was so focused on the strings he almost looked to be in a trance, but appeared relaxed at the same time. 

As John reached the final bars of the song, Roger quietly clapped, smiling ear-to-ear. 

“I’m not really that good, but I’m glad you liked it.” 

“Shut up! You were great, can we do a duet?”

-

The pair ended up sitting there and playing until the candle was almost burned out. Neither kept track of time, but it was still completely dark outside. 

About halfway through a slower song, John still on the guitar and Roger had switched to a lyre, Roger’s notes started to become groggy and faint. Soon, his notes completely stopped, and his weight fell against John’s leg, leaning against him where he still sat on the floor. 

John stopped playing, he placed his guitar beside him on the couch and looked down at Roger. The prince was not quite asleep, more teetering the line; he didn’t seem to care about his odd choice of pillow. 

Roger’s breathing soon evened out, his long eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks in a manner John never imagined they could. 

“You’ll regret sleeping sitting up in the morning, y’know,” he whispered, gently lifting Rogers' head off his knee and picking him up, laying him down on the couch. He grabbed the wool blanket folded atop another chair and threw it over the sleeping prince. 

“G’night,” he whispered before heading off to his own chambers.


	5. ch.4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Roger out for a trip to the pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones a tad short but im happy with it i think!!!!
> 
> IMPORTANT:: alcohol cw for this chapter, at one point they go out to a pub and yeah, so be wary of that and if u wanna skip out please comment and ill give u a detailed summary + this chapter honestly isnt SUPER SUPER important its just some relationship building lol

Roger’s bliss period had come to a close. No longer would he be able to spend his days laying back and eating grapes; he had  _ actual work  _ to do. 

For as long as the throne existed, it had been tradition to have the one next in line to act as the leader of a smaller region, the idea being to prepare them for leading the whole country. 

The other essential component of preparing the future ruler was to have the current king guide the heir, but Roger’s father never took even a smidge of interest in that. He hadn’t taken much interest in anything since Roger’s mother died, and his morale only worsened since his first five children’s deaths. The king had left the responsibility of acting as Roger’s mentour to Collin, but both Roger and Collin avoided each other at all costs. Roger never expected being the crown prince would take so much work, and the stress of that along with the ever-present grief for his older siblings was beginning to make him feel delirious at times. Keeping all his mourning to himself in the late hours of the night was suffocating.

Soon, he would be moving to Ozryn Province in the aptly named Ozryn manor for the time he would have sovereignty over the region; with absolutely nobody to tell him how he was meant to go about it. 

John, of course, would be coming with him. Claire and Freddie though, unfortunately, would not. It was only a temporary arrangement and they would be allowed to visit each other occasionally, so it was more of an ordeal of picking up where Rolan left off. Roger had absolutely  _ no  _ interest in running the country, so he wasn’t all too happy over that. 

The other major issue of his new title was marriage. 

He had never thought of marriage much beyond the… physical benefits. Other than that, it was a source of dread. Not that he wouldn’t want a romantic partner, he was never against it, but he couldn’t see himself being with a woman like that. At the end of the day, he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter - most nobles had arranged marriages and he doubted he was an exception to that. 

Roger occasionally imagined what it would be like to be with John. Roger always secretly found him pretty, and the more time they were together the more the idea lurked in his mind. Relationships of that sort were fine among peasant classes, but in any family in which a bloodline took importance, it was unspeakable.

John must have noticed him becoming aloof as he brought up something he never thought he would have offered to him.

“You seem on edge, do you need a trip to the pub or something?” John asked while Roger was looking over the myriad of documents he had to read before he left for Ozryn Province.

“I’d love to get out of this fucking room, but you know I’m not allowed out in town unless it’s authorized by my father and I have a guard with me.” Roger scoffed. “I doubt he would let me set foot in a pub.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” John replied, carelessly moving a few papers aside to sit on the edge of Roger’s desk. 

“If he ever found out, though, I don’t even want to know what would befall me. Or you,” Roger sighed. “You wouldn’t get off without some awful punishment either.”

“Oh well, the offer is still up if you want to leave,” John slid off the desk and turned away.

Roger bit his lip in his contemplation, he  _ really did not  _ want to spend his entire next few weeks on work he couldn't care less about. He had always wondered what it would be like to go to town for no particular reason other than entertainment. 

“What time should we go out?”

-

John loaned Roger some of his own clothes - loose trousers and a simple brown linen shirt - and loosely tied his hair back, both fashions only worn by commoners.

They left in the dead of night. If anyone saw them they would be scolded to hell and back, so they took the servants’ back hallways out. Luckily, no one crossed their path. 

The way down to town was forested, so once they got past the wall they felt safe enough to not sneak. 

“I’ve never been out unaccompanied before,” Roger admitted. 

“You aren’t really unaccompanied if it’s  _ me  _ taking you,” John reminded him. The prince had almost completely forgotten that it was John’s  _ job  _ to accompany him on affairs like this.

They emerged from the woods and for the first time in his life, Roger’s arrival wasn’t a whole theatrical production. It was nice.

It was late, but it was still warm, and street lights illuminating the back street in oranges and yellows. 

“I’ve never been here before, but it’s probably not too different than the one back where I’m from.” John explained, pointing to an old wood building just down the road. 

Roger gawked at everything he saw, looking all around himself with his jaw slack open. John had to elbow him in the side to get him to stop walking and get in the pub.

The pub was…. crowded. Roger couldn’t remember a time that he had been packed in a space almost over its capacity like this. John pulled him to the bar, his grip so tight on his arm it hurt, but Roger didn’t care. 

“I’ve never had a drink before!” Roger nearly yelled.

“Oh, really?” John replied as if he had way more experience with alcohol than he did. 

“No!” the prince smiled as a pint was slammed in front of him by a tired bartender. Roger, feeling a tad overzealous, immediately took a swig. 

It was bitter and almost sour, but the aftertaste was nice. He hoped John wouldn’t notice the faces he was making at the bitterness. 

He had to speak over at least four other people to have himself heard, he spilt a bit of his drink on himself at least twice, and he couldn’t be happier. 

A snippet of conversation prevailed over the other noise, he could have sworn he heard his father’s name. Roger focused on hearing their conversation.

“I don’t think I know anyone who’s got faith in the king anymore. Nobles don’t give a fuck about anything without the promise of however many pounds of gold.” he paused, the man beside him said something hushed so Roger couldn’t hear. 

“Y’know what? I’m glad they’re dead,” the man said, slamming down his pint on the bar. “Five less worthless fucks for them to waste money on.”

Roger didn’t need to hear what the other man said to know who that was referring to.

Anger flooded his mind, he wanted to turn to them and cuss them out.  _ They  _ never knew any of his siblings. They likely had never seen anything of them but a portrait. He couldn’t risk getting visibly angered: he didn’t want to go back to the palace and he never wanted to know what would happen to him if he was caught. 

Roger had to admit he hadn’t paid much attention to how his father ran the country, so he didn’t quite understand what kind of treatment would leave people to that way of thinking. 

_ They’re still talking,  _ he remembered, saving his thoughts for another moment to listen back into the conversation.

“I just hope the next one isn’t as colossel a failson as his father.” The man laughed. “They’re all spoiled little bitches who’ve never had a grain of dirt under their nails, so I doubt anything would substantially change for us, anyway.”

Based on his father’s approach to raising him and his siblings, it wasn’t all too surprising to hear of him not being all too great a king. 

That short conversation was all he needed to hear to make him rethink what it meant to be the crown prince.

-

Roger came out of the pub, stumbling and buzzing with excitement with John’s arm around him to keep him from falling. Despite his drunkenness, the conversation he overheard still rung fresh in his head. He tried not to let it destroy his good mood.

Roger limply let his head fall on John’s shoulder. “We should- we should go back out soon, it’s nice to not be  _ there-”  _ he referred to the palace as if it were the most putrid thing he could imagine. Roger abruptly stopped walking. 

“You’re the best thing to happen to me in a really long time, y’know” he slurred. 

John’s immediate reaction was to laugh, but it seemed Roger was sincere. 

“Rog, you’re drunk, don’t say things you’ll regret,” he explains, but Roger was too out of it to really comprehend words. 

They seamlessly snuck back into the castle, avoiding night guards and wandering servants back to Roger’s empty chambers. John had to hold Roger up the whole way, the prince’s knees were jelly and his steps were uneven with intoxication. 

John had to half-carry Roger to his room. It was dark and drafty in the hallways at that hour.

“You’re fine from here, yeah?” John asked, Roger replied with a muffled noise of approval. 

The prince steadied himself to standing, leant in and kissed him on the cheek and wordlessly staggering into his room before John could respond. 

John’s cheek felt electric for the rest of the night. 


	6. ch.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair make their way to Ozryn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope yall like this one hhraahhaha. i promise the slow burn actually starts to burn in this chapter, i hope im able to keep ur interest ahhahahhaha

Ozryn was over a full day’s travel away - halfway across the entire country. 

Roger spent nearly their entire last day home with goodbyes and promises of letters while John was briefed on how the institutions in Ozryn functioned differently than they did in the capital.

They were set to depart in the mid-afternoon, as travelling under the cover of night was deemed safer. 

In the middle of the palace undercroft stood a multitude of men on horseback and two carriages: one to hold people and the other to hold objects. Roger had already taken his bags out so he could focus more on saying goodbye. Just by the carriages, there was a short line of people to watch them leave for Ozryn. 

Roger first noticed Claire, in her loose, bright scarlet dress their mother used to own. The moment she heard Roger’s footsteps against the stone floor, she turned on her heel and sprinted to him. The others standing with her were a less-than-happy looking Collin (who could not have made it more obvious he was only there by obligation), the leader of the Royal Guard, and Freddie. The king was, not to anyone’s surprise, absent. 

Roger was snapped out of his observation when Claire playfully punched him on the arm.

“What the hell was that for?” Roger laughed.

“Revenge for you leaving me alone here,” she sneered.

“You won’t be alone, y’know how many fucking people live here? I don’t.”

“But none of them will be  _ you. _ ” 

“I’ll be back before you know it. Plus.” Roger pulled Claire into a hug. “I’ll write you as much as I can. I’ll write so much you’ll be fed up with me in a week.”

“And you’d better mail me some good souvenirs from there, I’m not letting you go across the country without bringing back anything!” Claire jokingly scolded him. “Really though, I can’t wait for you to get back. Good luck in Ozryn, Rog.”

John was already in the cabin, sorting out his things one last time before they left. Freddie pulled Roger aside, a devious smile on his face. 

“So you two are alone now?” 

“Wh- no! We’ll not be, plus, I don’t think he would be interested anyway! I mean, it’s not what he’s here for,” Roger blabbered, barely realizing what he just admitted. 

“So you  _ do _ like him?”

“No! I don’t, and you know I wouldn’t be able to…” he paused, trying to come up with appropriate wording, “we wouldn’t ever be able to be together properly anyway, you know I wouldn’t be allowed to be like that.” 

“Yeah, but I guess… maybe you could just-” Freddie’s face fell. “Fuck, Rog, I’m sorry, I forgot about that.”

“It’s fine. And more importantly, you know I’m gonna miss you, right?” Roger smiled. 

“Of course you will, but you’ll be back soon so don’t worry about me. Send me so many letters my mailbox breaks from the weight of them all or else I’ll shun you for the rest of your days,” he joked, and without warning hugging the prince so tightly he had the wind knocked out of him.

“I’ll miss you too-” Roger squeaked, wiggling himself out of Freddie’s iron grip. 

Roger ruffled Claire’s hair one last time, getting an annoyed squeal out of her, and he was off.

The carriage was tiny, one small bed, hooks and cabinets along every wall and one little changing room in the corner that could barely fit a single man. Their bags were to be shipped separately in a cart beside them, both modestly guarded by men on horseback. 

_ One  _ small bed.

Which meant Roger and John had to share it. Neither of them commented on that. 

They each unpacked the little amount of things they had, mostly short books and hygiene products. 

The only places to sit were on their luggage, a little chair in the corner and the bed - which took up most of the cabin. Roger occasionally glanced at the bed and the window, as if to count down what was to come. John was actively ignoring the issue, keeping his eyes fixated on a novel he brought and the window. 

Logically, Roger knew it was not a big deal; but also he had never shared a bed with  _ anyone  _ before, let alone  _ John.  _

__ Rather than waste the free hours fiddling with his things, he decided to follow John’s decision to pull out one of his own books and ignore the world outside the pages.

-

They were off to bed early that night, the light they were using as a reading light was gone and they would need to get up in good time the next day. 

Roger got to as much of his nightly routine as he could without his regular accommodations, cleaning his teeth and braiding his hair. 

“Why do you do that?” John asked, still busy rummaging through his own luggage “Do your hair when you’re off to bed?” “Why do I braid it at night?” Roger turned to face him. “It makes your hair nice and wavy in the morning, and keeps it out of your face when you’re trying to sleep. You don’t?”

John had seen his mother do so on nights before special events, other days most people didn’t have time for trivial rituals like that. “I haven’t done it personally, no.”

“Do you want me to braid yours?” Roger offered, messily securing his three strands of hair together with an old hair-tie.

John wasn’t going to deny a little extra time with Roger. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Oh good! Yours looks all smooth and nice, so it’ll be fun to do yours.” Roger said, shuffling back on the bed to sit behind John, immediately bringing the bits hanging in front of his shoulders to the back. 

John thought it to be nice to be taken care of like this. He was used to being completely self-sufficient, taking absolutely nothing from anybody. It was nice to be cared for instead of caring for others, for once. 

Roger was gentle in braiding his hair, his fingers brushing his neck and his cheek when he took strands that were still in John’s face. He worked quickly, being done with it in only a few short minutes. John couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed to feel the warmth of Roger’s hands retract. 

“I won’t be offended if you take it off early.,” Roger shuffled back to sit beside John., “Aand g’night.”

Roger fell back, curling up on the thick duvet. John was close to follow, laying facing the prince.

Roger had himself laid on his side at the very edge of the bed, so close to the edge of the wheel hit a pebble he would probably fall off. 

“You don’t have to lay on the edge like that, y’know, I’ve shared beds before and I don’t care,” John whispered, taking pity on Roger’s uncomfortable position. The blond’s eyes shot open, somehow in the dark the blue of his eyes was still bright. 

“You wouldn’t care?” Roger asked. 

“I wouldn’t,” John confirmed. Roger ungraciously flopped onto his front, sighing and pulling the blanket tightly around his shoulders. He spoke a muffled “g’night” before immediately knocking out.

And he looked  _ criminally  _ attractive. 

The prince’s cheek was squished with him holding the blanket to himself so tightly, only making his hard-to-ignore eyelashes even more prominent. The strip of moonlight shining through the tiny window directly shone on Roger’s hair, giving it a cool blue tinge. 

_ You should kiss him,  _ the deepest recesses of John’s mind told him. He mentally slapped himself.  _ Should be asleep right now.  _

John fell into a cycle of forcing himself to close his eyes and think of nothing, but repeatedly found his eyes fall back open to the prince. 

He fell asleep without noticing, the wind and cool breeze coming through the window dragging him into unconsciousness. 

-

Roger woke up first. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and another to realize it was John’s face barely a few centimeters away from his. So close, in fact, he could clearly hear John’s steady breathing. 

He would have moved, but outside the blanket was cold and unforgiving, while underneath was like laying in a warm cloud. Plus, it was nice to have a moment to admire John’s face without interruption. They weren’t quite touching, they both had their arms resting by their sides touching, but that was it. He wished he could shuffle over just a little bit and bury himself in John’s chest. 

Eventually, Roger forced himself to get up and clean himself before John woke up.

By the time he was done changing, John was just waking up. He yawned, his eyes had a little crinkle effect as he did and Roger was overwhelmed with how  _ cute  _ he looked. 

Roger forced himself to tear his eyes away from the half-slumbering John, opening the little window to ask the driver when they would arrive. The driver estimated they would be on the road until noon, about four hours from then. 

The landscape was completely different than that of his home, the grass was a different shade of green and the tree branches twisted in artful patterns reaching towards the cloudless sky. He hadn’t been so far from home since his time in Ivredesen.

When Roger turned away from the window,, John was up and stretching his back. He was in a loose shirt with equally loose pants, a lot less form-fitting than what he normally wore, he looked so  _ domestic.  _

“G’morning,” John greeted, his voice groggy and soft.

Roger had to mentally restrain himself to not completely gush over the scene in front of him. “G-good morning to you as well,” Roger stammered. 

John did not seem to notice his nervousness, giving him a little wave and smile, then sitting back on the bed to get back into his novel. Roger grabbed his own book, but didn’t get much reading done with the man right in front of him distracting him. 

Roger would never admit to it, but it was at least three times John caught him ogling.

-

Fortunately their arrival was greeted with little fanfare.

Ozryn Manor was only around 30 years old, which was really a baby compared to the near ancient temples and castles around the country, so it was more modern than where they came from. Newer, more geometric-style stained glass windows and bricks that hadn’t been stained with centuries of moss growth. It was smaller than the palace as well, laid out more like a house.

Roger was greeted by a peppy servant called Eden, who spoke a mile a minute about every little thing regarding the manor. John had volunteered himself to help bring in the luggage.

“We’ve got a garden all around the house, kept up by our lovely Finn, oh he’s so proud of it- then we’ve got the inside, it’s been renovated about last year so it should be up to standard. And it is beautiful, too- I’m not just saying because I work there, it really is-“ she paused, “Oh! I’m sorry, I haven’t even brought you inside yet!” she clapped her hands together enthusiastically and led him inside.

The front hall was lavish, decorated with a million shades of green and gold. A large framed canvas covered by a black sheet was at the end of the hall, and Roger knew it was a portrait of Rolan under it; it seemed the mourning rituals were still in full swing here. Roger hadn’t yet thought about how being here would make their deaths even more real. 

“So where do we have meals? I haven’t had anything all day,” he asked, pulling himself out of thinking about his siblings. 

“Just down this hall usually, but you can eat wherever you wish, and our chef, oh they’re wonderful too-“ she rambled. 

He had only woken up a couple short hours ago, but already he was looking forward to going back to bed.

***

After a long day of tours and explanations, Roger was finally shown to his room. Rolan’s old room. 

He collapsed back in the bed and sighed, staring up at the ornately carved and painted ceiling. 

If he knew anything, he knew that he was not at all ready to be saddled with the responsibility of running a country. 


	7. ch.6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life in Ozryn Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally giving u guys a longer chapter lol. hope its enjoyable hahahahahah udfhaa,. asaja l. aa, s .

Just a day after his arrival, his work began.

John woke him up as he usually did at around eight in the morning, gently grabbing and shaking him by the shoulder until Roger finally got up.

“Roger? C’mon, don’t make me carry you out. Finn’s been calling for you.” John shook him harder when he didn’t respond the first time. 

Roger jolted up, throwing off the comfort of the soft pillow and warm duvet. John had by then replaced the role of his morning servants, coming up to his room with bread and tea along to wake him up. The prince hadn’t had anyone else dress him since he was 12, unlike the norm for nobles to be dressed by a servant for their whole lives, so that wasn’t an issue for him. 

Roger stumbled to his closet, quickly changing into his usual cream white shirt and comfortable linen pants. He dressed a lot more casually now that his father wasn’t there to give him disapproving looks.

He savoured the time he got to sit by the window and think about nothing. Oftentimes he only saw the sun in the morning, and when he saw a window again it would be setting.

And it was a nice opportunity to sit with John. The mundane act of eating toast with him while staring at the garden wrapped him in the peace of contentment, his mere presence made him feel lovely. 

He didn’t have any time to waste. Nobody had done Rolan’s work since he died, so that was months of work in itself. There were disputes rising in South Ozryn, which meant deciding how to most effectively protect nearby villages in case of violence. Coordinating how food was distributed throughout cities, approving building permits, assisting in the judging of local court cases, and being tutored in international law, language and relations took up most of his time. Needless to say, going to bed was his greatest joy these days.

Although he missed nearly everything about the palace in the capital, John being there made it better. His days were long and filled with advisors and representatives, piling more work and extending his neverending list of to-dos, but at the end of the day he looked forward to his free time with John. 

And right now, the knight was sitting in front of him looking absolutely  _ ethereal  _ in the light from the setting sun. His profile was sharp and his eyes narrow, and his hair looked softer than silk. He was lean but muscular, and sometimes Roger would be overwhelmed with the desire to just hug him and bury his face in the little space between his shoulder and neck.

“Your toast’s going to get cold if you keep staring into space like that,” John informed him, snapping him out of his overthinking. Roger choked out an awkward laugh, taking a sip of his lukewarm tea. 

***

David (the master of Ozryn manor when Roger wasn’t there,) interrupted his paperwork.

“Yes?” Roger croaked. The day was already turning to late afternoon, making his already narrow window to sit out with John even smaller.

“I’ve come with a file delivered straight from the king’s hands-” he revealed a messy bundle of papers held together by simple desk staples, “he’s asked for you to consider your marriage options.”

The prince groaned, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. He already was getting eye strain from straining to stare at his existing work. 

“Your majesty? I’m sure you’ve been told how important your future marriage is, your bloodline only rests on you and Princess Claire now, and the king is worried you won’t be able to secure an heir. Most nobles are married by your age, you do know-”

“Yes! I get it, I’ll look at it if you leave me alone!” Roger interrupted. David frowned, obviously disapproving of his behaviour but silently dropped the file on his desk and left. “God, I’m just in a constant loop of more fucking papers everyday…” he mumbled to himself.

He opened the delicate bundle of papers, each page was dedicated to a different noblewoman. The first page was a princess from Abral, including a typed letter regarding the political benefits of a marriage with her, and another handwritten by her that was more personal; along with a little pencil portrait of her.

_ “I enjoy partaking in summer sports and cooking, and grew up caring for my baby siblings…”  _ She wrote,  _ “I would be more than happy to raise our children myself, and I have strived for all my life to learn to be a good mother…”  _

He was only on the first page, but he was already uncomfortable. 

He didn’t dislike children, in fact, he greatly enjoyed being around them, but the idea of having a domestic life with her felt odd. He tried to imagine himself in the role of a husband, tending to his wife’s every whim and being the man of the house, but the thought made him feel viscerally wrong.  _ Maybe I just don’t like her,  _ he flipped the page. 

It seemed every page followed the same format, photo, political letter, personal letter. It gave him a little laugh to see people he had met at gatherings in the past. 

It upset him to think that one day Claire would have to advertise herself like this. 

After skimming through the rest of the booklet, he decided it would be best to dedicate his time to what he needed done by the next morning, and by the time he was finally done, the sun had disappeared. 

John usually went to bed earlier than him, as he woke up earlier than him, but Roger suspected he still had time. David had dropped off the file around noon, it couldn’t have taken him  _ that  _ long, could it?

But it did take him that long, as instead of John he was greeted by a locked door with no light spilling underneath the crack.

_ “Fuck!” _ Roger whisper-yelled to himself, anger boiling up inside him scarily quickly. He balled his hands into fists so tight his stubby nails painfully dug into his skin and his vision blurred at the corners. He ran down to his room so he could take his anger out properly, almost tripping over the carpet twice on the way. 

When he was angry, he got much more aggressive, which only served to intensify his anger. 

_ You can see him in the morning, it’s not that big of a deal,  _ he told himself. But he was really looking forward to sitting with John  _ tonight.  _

He threw open his bedroom door and closed it, his energy to rage already gone. He threw his day clothes into the hamper, ran himself a bath and put himself to bed. 

It was days like these he really longed for someone to hold him at night.

Whenever he imagined being married, he never imagined anyone in particular. Some days he thought he would like a spouse with long hair and pretty eyes, sometimes he would forgo what they looked like altogether and just think of them as a sentient being to hold his hand and kiss him goodnight. He never had a childhood crush, he never thought about being with a woman as anything more than a friend, he wasn’t sure he was able to feel romantic emotions until John.

John put everything into question.

Roger had never felt like the way he did when he was with John. The knight made him feel like he could walk on air. He could think of a million things he adored about John - he was beautiful, his voice was a perfect pitch and said some of the most clever quips Roger had ever heard, and something about how he looked when the light hit his face in a certain way made his heart sing. 

_ It’s too late at night to think about this fucking shit, _ Roger thought, rolling over to lay on his front. He doubted he had ever been in love before - and if he did, he didn’t notice. What he felt now he couldn’t ignore, but he didn’t know  _ what  _ love was, how could he? How could  _ anyone?  _ He knew that he wouldn’t be able to explain it clearly, how would he ever know it?

Even if he was bold enough to say anything to John, he had already seen the only possible relationship options for him, and none of them were anything like John. A marriage with John was, first of all, illegal; Roger would be shunned by every other nobleman in the world if he were to marry into a common man’s family. Plus, he didn’t want all the pressure of producing an heir to be on Claire, so he knew pursuing a relationship with John was more than impossible.

_ But what’s the harm in thinking about being with him?  _

And Roger couldn’t argue with that. 

***

John woke up with the sun, quickly cleaning and dressing to make himself presentable in front of the prince. At first he only tried to look good to look professional like he was taught, but as time went he just wanted to look nice for Roger.

Speaking of Roger, he was constantly buried in work. So much so, it was bleeding into his free time. 

His hours working were long, and when he finally came back to his chambers, he was drained and exhausted. He never complained to John aside from the occasional  _ “I’m just so fucking tired,”  _ but it didn’t take a well-trained eye to see he wasn’t doing well. 

As for himself, John spent more of his time reading and hanging around with other servants. Before, he had no obligation to be with Roger as much as he was, but they spent most days together because of a mutual enjoyment of the company; and now that Roger was too busy to even leave his study on most days, so John was alone. The manor staff seemed to notice how little he had to do, because they started saddling him with minor chores and errands.  _ I’ve really trained my whole life to be a fucking knight only to be a maid, huh?  _ He would think to himself. 

The only times of day they had together were the early mornings, evenings and the one break Roger had in the late afternoon. 

Roger seemed especially frustrated today. 

The night before he had brought a little file in, it had no label or distinction from any other file, but it was obvious it was important as Roger  _ never  _ brought his work home. 

Roger didn’t touch it that morning, but that afternoon he brought it to their table. John had already sat himself down with his evening tea and trashy novel.

“What’s that?” he asked, looking up at the somehow already exhausted Roger. 

The prince sighed before explaining, “It's the entirety of my future marriage options, David gave it to me yesterday.”

An indescribable rush of anger filled John’s being.  _ Why would you need that when I’m right here?  _ He wanted to say.

“That’s nice,” was all John said, forcing himself to put his attention back onto his book.

Roger flipped through the folder a little bit, but just as soon as he opened it he slammed it shut. 

“None of them stand out to me.”

“Why’s that?” 

“They’re all the same to some degree. None of them really say anything about themselves- which is ironic, cause they’ve all written whole letters about themselves. It just feels like they’re only writing things they think would be attractive. They all say they want to be mothers in some way or another, some of them are really into sports- but they mostly talk about just being wives. I guess they’ve been coerced to write things like that, but I can’t imagine being with any of them. And they’re all quite posh, which I can’t really speak on in my position, but it’s the way they carry themselves, y’know?” Roger ranted.

John nodded along. “I’ve never been very interested in marriage either, I don’t understand why you’d need a legal contract to prove that you love someone.” Now that he thought of it, he didn’t like the thought of Roger being with someone else either.

“I always considered it to be more of a unification of families than to be about love in the first place,” Roger replied, fiddling with his sleeve. “I don’t know, I’m just not very interested in marriage. I know I’ve got to and I have to at some point, but just thinking about it makes me uncomfortable and I don’t know why.” 

“I guess the concept of marriage varies depending on what class you’re in. Marriage laws are a lot more lax, at least where I’m from. Marry whoever as long as it’s not your sister and you’ve got an appropriate age gap.”

Roger couldn’t help but laugh a little. John couldn’t help but love that laugh. 

“If you’re born into a family with any political significance at all, the only thing anyone cares about is your bloodline, so I’m sure you can guess the laws that apply to me are the opposite.”

“Well, some of them apply to me, I can’t legally marry into nobility. Kind of shooting yourself in the foot with that law, because if you keep up with that for too long you’d end up with inbreeding-”

“Are you saying I’m inbred?” Roger burst out laughing. John couldn’t help but love that laugh. 

\- 

He had an inkling that Roger felt something more for him. John wasn’t daft and Roger wasn’t subtle. 

John was sure at that point that he did feel love for Roger. He couldn’t mistake the weightless feeling he had when he listened to his ramblings, stole a glance at his gorgeous face, or even  _ thought  _ of him for anything else. 

His thoughts regarding Roger were  _ unspeakably  _ out of his line of duty. Without a doubt he would be thrown out of the position he worked his whole life to get, and he couldn’t imagine a more frustrating fate.

Being hopelessly in love with a prince was a path in life he’d never even dared to imagine, but one that was quickly becoming reality.

***

It had become routine to sit in Roger’s little private library in the late afternoons during Roger’s breaks, quietly enjoying each other’s company. 

“You look really nice with your hair down,” Roger complimented John absentmindedly, “I mean, you look good whatever you do with your hair, but I think you look especially nice with it down,” he added hastily.

John, not looking up from his book, smiled. “You’re pretty as well.”

Roger was taken aback for a moment; John rarely broke his composure to say things like that.

“Really?” 

“Yeah, why would I lie about that?”

Roger paused once again. “No reason,” he replied, turning back to his novel. 

***

No matter how much time he had to settle in, Roger never felt at home.

It was obvious all the staff liked Rolan better: he had spent the past couple years there and died there, while Roger was his ungrateful, ignorant little brother. 

Nobody was rude to him or anything, nobody was ever bold enough to show any detestment with the crown; they were just cold. 

Maybe they thought he hadn’t mourned his brother well enough? Ozryn manor still had mourning rituals in place for him; covering all the mirrors and paintings in sheer black veils, his personal servants were still in mourning clothes, and the halls always seemed to be clouded in the feeling of something missing.

Each day blended into the next. Turned out that spending the majority of your day sitting at a desk with only the sound of your scratching pen to keep you company didn’t make for a very memorable day.

It wasn’t much better outside of his study, either.

On the exceedingly rare days he had off, he was too tired to do anything and wasted half of his day in bed; and once he finally got up he couldn’t help but dwell on what Rolan’s final days were like. With no work to distract him and John tasked with minor chores, all he had to think about was the five people he had lost so easily. 

Even flipping through the file with all his suitor’s photos in it reminded him of the spouses  _ they  _ had left behind. The worst was when he would come across one of Rolan’s old belongings. 

Everything was a reminder of what happened. 

Today was no break in routine, getting up and near immediately trudging to his study to read and sign papers all day only to barely make a dent in the stack. 

After what felt like a few hours of work, the door opened without a knock. Roger snapped his gaze up, John was standing at the door with a plate of little almond cakes. 

“John!” Roger lit up, shoving his papers aside to make room for the plate. 

“I come bearing gifts,” he said, putting the plate in front of Roger and pulling up a chair for himself. 

“I didn’t expect you to be here today, but you know I’ll never be disappointed if you come around with sweets.”

“I honestly am looking forward to going back to the capital, everyone here doesn’t seem to like me too much.”

“You don’t say?” Roger giggled, “they couldn’t make it more obvious they don’t want me here. Or you, for that matter.”

“Yeah. And you seem a little off yourself?” 

“It’s just a lot of work, I’m not really used to spending my whole day on these things. I’m used to the tutoring, but now I just sit here alone for hours and it’s a little pathetic. I just- I guess it’s overwhelming,” he sighed. “I have never heard of  _ half  _ the laws or ordinances I’ve had to learn now, I never really paid attention to it before.” The look in his eyes was unreadable.

“It’s just that-” Roger paused. 

“I wasn’t- God, I really can’t do this,” he huffed, burying his head in his arms.

John stood in front of him for a moment, arguing with himself if he should leave or not. He did not expect the job of working as a  _ knight _ would entail comforting a prince on the verge of crying. 

He couldn’t leave Roger alone, so he walked to the other side and bent down so their heads were at the same height. 

“Rog? it’s not- you haven’t done a bad job, y’know,” he tried. In all honesty, he was not very emotionally literate.

Roger threw his head back up, the beginning of tears evident in his eyes.

“I shouldn’t be here! I wasn’t supposed to be here-“ he slammed his hand on the desk, “I was never meant to be here! Rolan would’ve-“ he stopped. The last time he had said his brother's name out loud was maybe a week after his funeral. He froze, he felt more choked up by the second.

“Rolan would-“ 

A sob overpowered any words he tried to choke out.

John stared at the man in front of him, the future king reduced to a never-ending stream of tears. 

As an act of pure impulse, he placed a reassuring hand on Roger’s shoulder. Roger tried to forcefully steady his breathing, obviously failing. 

John pulled Roger into a hug, bending over so Roger could rest his head on his shoulder. Roger accepted his advance, tightly gripping the cloth of John’s shirt. The prince pushed himself out of his chair, slowly sinking to the floor and bringing John with him. 

They sat against the heavy wood of the desk, Roger’s frantic sniffling filling the room. Neither would admit to how much they appreciated the closeness to each other. 

“If it makes you feel any better - I’ve missed my family a lot, too. My father died when I was younger and I’ve still got my mum and sister at home. I’ll never exactly understand how you feel, but I have a slight grasp on it.” 

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Roger responded sympathetically. “I hope you're able to see them again soon, it’s awful to not be able to see people you love for long periods of time.”

“Thanks,” he roughly patted him on the shoulder, letting his hand linger. 

Roger leaned into John, letting his head fall onto John’s shoulder. The knight didn’t resist, enjoying the closeness.

“I don’t even know if this institution should still exist, to be honest,” Roger broke the sweet silence. His voice was quiet, but not as shaky as before. 

“I mean, I’m not nearly qualified to do  _ any  _ of this, there’s probably some field worker who could do it a million times better than me but they’re just going to waste away working to death because there isn’t any way they can move up in life.”

“Yeah, it is awfully unfair. Maybe once you get the throne you could… y’know, change the law?” John tried to beat around the bush with his language, but ended up directly hitting the bush anyway. 

“I’d hope I can- I don’t want to live like this if others in this country have to work everyday until they die so they can put stale bread on the table,”  _ and make it so I can be with you.  _ Roger tried to put himself together, straightening his shoulders and forcing himself to breathe properly.

__ “I’m sorry you’ve got to deal with me,” Roger apologized. 

“I _enjoy_ dealing with you.”

"Shh!” Roger laughed. It was a miracle to him that John could change his mood so quickly.

*** 

Roger rubbed his temples in frustration. He cared deeply about the wellbeing of the world and those he ruled over, but it was so easy to completely destroy the order of it all. He hated the meetings just as much as he did when he had no stakes in it, but now that he had the  _ most  _ important say in them, he absolutely  _ resented  _ them. 

“Well, if there’s a crop plague going on in Guthram, why don’t Holbeck and Tarrin provide extra food for them and just completely clean up the affected crops?” he suggested, questioning his own tone. 

“If you say so it will be done, your majesty,” David responded monotonously.

“I don’t fucking know what to do!” he yelled, voice full of vitriol, “I don’t fucking know how to deal with  _ any  _ of these problems, I’ve never even seen any of these places and you think I have any idea how to solve their problems, and  _ none  _ of you  _ ever  _ object to anything?”

Everyone at the table looked taken aback, staring up at Roger blankly. 

“See? None of you have  _ ever  _ said  _ anything  _ of your own opinion. I’m not gonna fucking behead you, can you just fucking help me?”

The most noise that came out of the cabinet was people shuffling in their sheets and quietly clearing their throats to fill the awkward silence. 

“Whatever, I’m off to work on my own because none of you have helped. Goodnight,” he shoved his chair back crudely and stomped out of the room, nobody objecting to him on his way out. 

***

Just as every other day, Roger had worked himself into the early morning, his only light coming from a fire hazard of lamps lining his desk. 

The first noise he heard that wasn’t made by him in hours, a timid knock at the door. 

“Yes?” his voice came out groggy and scratchy.

It was David who opened the door, gently closing it behind him and turning back to face Roger, but not daring to come close to his desk.

“Your majesty, I come bearing unfortunate news,” he said, his hands politely folded in front of him. David was usually in bed around two hours after sunset, so him being up so late was very unusual. The cryptic look in his eyes struck anxiety straight into Roger’s heart. 

“Go on?” Roger replied.

David paused for a moment, biting his lip before speaking,

“Your father’s been poisoned.”


	8. ch.7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger's life is awfully eventful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall finally getting what you signed up for lol

“Poisoned?” Roger replied, a foreign laugh escaping his lips. 

“Yes, he has. I’m sorry, your majesty.”

“Is he-” Roger paused to suppress a choke. “Is he ok?”

David never broke his stiff formality. “It’s not likely he will see the morning.” 

Roger froze. He had never thought about losing his father before; he had been so distant from him for so long he didn’t even know how to feel.

David let himself out while Roger stared blankly at his hands. 

The past year and a half had certainly been a reminder of everyone’s mortality, but he never even _thought_ of his father dying. No matter how aware he was of the inevitability of death, some people he just could not imagine being gone; and the king was one of them. 

Roger wasn’t even sure if he could say he loved him. He could remember a time when he did: his father showing him around the garden for the first time, letting him play on the fancy round carpet in front of his desk. It was hard to remember a long-lasting pleasant encounter with him past his early childhood. 

If his sibling’s funerals weren’t bad enough, for his father’s, _he_ would be the king.

As king, he would have a higher religious duty, and need to speak at the service. While with his siblings, he could often be off on the sidelines and almost ignore the proceedings, as his only duty then was to attend. 

He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. He felt like he didn’t have the right. He barely knew the man. 

Needless to say he didn’t get much done the rest of the night.

***

Strangely, it hadn’t yet occurred to him to ask who did it. His quickly-approaching future of kingship was a major distraction. 

The king’s sudden death meant Roger would be crowned as king not even four months after arriving in Ozryn. Leaving the region so soon meant appointing a permanent governor that would rule until he had an heir of his own - a thought that still made him shudder. 

He didn’t bother with any of the work he left unfinished, leaving it for the next poor soul to take his place. David had brought him yet another folder of candidates for governor, but he didn’t bother reading through it and picked the person with the coolest looking name. His more personal belongings he packed himself, but he had one of the servants pack everything else, and to her annoyance he did not help at all. Roger spent his last day in Ozryn staring forlornly into the endless expanse of greenery outside his window. 

John collected him the next morning. They didn’t have time for a last breakfast by the window, to Roger’s dismay. The most concrete thing in his world as he walked down the hall was John’s steely grip on his arm.

He departed the manor with as little fanfare as he entered it. If anything, the staff there were probably glad they wouldn’t need to deal with him anymore. 

The ride was quiet. John didn’t dare speak, and Roger could put anything in his head that wasn’t wondering if his father was dead or alive, or when he died, or if it hurt, or what the king was thinking of when it happened. 

The day turned to night so quickly Roger barely noticed, he didn’t bother braiding his hair before he went to bed, he just wanted his brain to shut off. 

_Would he think at all about his last living son in his final moments?_

-

After hours of restlessness, Roger turned around to face John, only to find that he was also still awake.

“Can’t sleep?” John whispered.

Roger shook his head in response. “It’s a little chilly, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it is a little. Have you any solution to that?”

Roger paused. “Maybe.”

“What is it?”

John never seemed to be one for physical affection, but it really was cold, and who knew when the next time they got to bedshare would be?

“Well we could cuddle,” Roger suggested, barely suppressing a giggle. “Share body heat, y’know?” 

After a painfully awkward second of no response, John nodded and pulled the blanket up, wordlessly inviting Roger to lay beside him.

Roger shuffled over and nestled himself in John’s arms, the relief he felt engulfed in his warmth was indescribable. He felt like months upon months of the weight of yearning was slipping off his shoulders. The feeling of John’s callused fingers brushing his hair out of his face made the butterflies in his stomach go absolutely _wild._

As for John, he was a bit more flustered. He was anxious to touch the prince at all, in any context, and now he had him falling asleep against his chest.

He almost didn’t believe that it only took a few short months with Roger for him to toss aside the strict moral codes he had adhered to for most of his life. Roger made him feel more comfortable to act more like himself, and as generic as that sounded, it was true.

It would only be right for John to _try_ to bring him comfort. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” John dared to ask.

“Not much to say.”

John knew that wasn’t true, but he didn’t want to push it.

“Alright,” John said quietly.

Roger didn’t reply. In a few short minutes, John heard his breaths even out and soon he himself fell into a dreamless sleep.

***

The first person he saw once he stepped out of the cabin was Claire, in full mourning clothes but wearing a bright smile on her face. Other than her, the room was empty. John had occupied himself to take luggage inside, tactfully avoiding the royal siblings. 

_So he was dead._

Before he could speak, she threw herself at him and hugged him so tightly he had a hard time breathing. 

“Nice to see you again,” Roger greeted, his voice dryer than a dead fish.

“It’s good to see you too,” she replied, leaning into the hug. 

Roger paused. “Is he- y’know?” he asked, not ready to accept his father’s death.

She grimly nodded, “do you want to see him?” 

He had only passed a bit over two days ago at that point, so his body had likely not yet begun its return to the earth. Roger decided he wanted the closure of seeing it.

“He passed in his sleep, if that gives you any solace,” she mentioned. 

“What else went on?” Roger spoke quickly, not trusting himself to speak more for fear of crying. 

She let out a shaky sigh. “He had his dinner alone, and then a few hours later he got sick and after a few more hours he was gone. He was poisoned but I don’t know who did it.”

Every moment Claire wasn’t speaking, the castle was more silent than Roger had ever heard. The halls that usually had a low buzz of noise from other rooms in the area was gone, the silence unlike any he had ever heard. Even in the days after his sibling’s deaths it wasn’t so quiet. 

The king had been moved from the bed he died in to an unforgiving wooden table in the cellar as he was prepared for the mausoleum. Claire had left his side before he went into the room, so the only other person there was the priest, who had been assigned to guard the body until he was buried; well, not quite buried, but sent to rot in an above ground crypt. 

Roger gestured towards the exit. The priest gave a short nod and took his leave. With the heavy thud of the door, the room was plunged once again into semi-darkness and Roger was left alone with only his father’s body for company.

Roger’s eyes almost automatically diverged from the corpse, staring listlessly at the old stone floors and shelves full of chilled foods. It was unnerving that his father’s body was stored in the same fashion as the meats, laid out on the slab like Sunday dinner.

He barely recognized his father. Roger of course was aware of the fact that people’s appearances changed postmortem, but he looked so starkly different from when he was alive. His eyes were sunken and he had grown messy stubble (all his life he had meticulously kept his face clean from facial hair,) and his hands were thin and boney, paired with the cool blues and purples that went along with being dead. 

The fact that he had barely seen him the past year only made the corpse in front of him feel less real. 

He was taken out of his trance by a gentle knock at the door.

“Rog? Can I come in?” Claire asked, her voice sounding smaller than usual. Roger didn’t trust himself to talk, so he went and opened the door himself. She tried to give him a smile, but it came out wrong. She silently joined him at his side, staring down at what used to be their father.

“So he really is gone, then?” Roger asked despite the obvious. 

Before Claire could respond, Roger burst into a sob and went off to be alone. Claire didn’t follow. 

***

Barely a day after he returned home was the funeral. He hadn’t intentionally seen anyone since he left Claire alone in the cellar, writing the eulogy alone through shaky hands and very little revision. 

The funeral, by religious law, was only three days after the king’s passing. 

Claire helped him revise the eulogy, most of what he said about his father was guesswork, but it was, in Roger’s words, _pretty decent._

The hall was decorated from the floor to the ceiling, portraits of the late king, and of course, his casket in the centre of the room with his unfinished tapestry laid atop it. 

After attending so many funerals, the grandeur has lost its luster. None of it would bring his family back. The ceremony began with blessings to the king’s soul from the priest, the palace choir singing farewells, and after the first collective prayer was Roger’s time to speak.

He silently stepped up to the podium set up right above the casket, John close behind him and Claire already sitting by the wall. His anxiety grew with every step. The crinkle of the paper seemed impossibly loud as it crumpled in his grip. He wondered if the rest of the congregation could hear it. He paused for a moment to scan the room, quickly snapping his gaze down to the paper he was flattening out on the surface of the podium. 

Now he wished he had spent more time building up his public speaking skills. 

“When I was little, my father…” he began. 

Having John beside him was comforting. His presence didn’t erase the hundreds of eyes on him or the fact that with every word that left his mouth he was closer to tears, unfortunately. 

_Of course I’m not going to cry it out when I’m in my room alone, I’m gonna do it in front of a hundred fucking people,_ he scoulded himself. 

“My father always had strong faith,” he said, his most recent memories of the king being of him praying about something Roger never dared to ask about. “So I would like to believe he is well on his way to the afterlife. His legacy will be immortalized by those who knew him and the impact he had on the years he ruled,” he abruptly ended, folding the paper back into his pocket, his only focus now being to get out of the view of mourners.

*** 

When Roger decided the evidence of his tears had cleared up enough, he went back to his little library. 

John was sitting on the little sofa in front of the fireplace, the flickering red highlighting his strong side profile. He had the same novel from the day before, and it looked like he hadn’t gotten through much of it, still barely making it through the first few pages. 

Roger mustered up a smile. “Hey, John?” 

The knight slammed his book closed, startled. “Rog- hi, um, hi- hello.”

Roger smiled. “Hi. Is it alright if I…”

John quickly took his feet off of the couch and made room for Roger, who sat down on the opposite end, folding his legs beneath himself.

“So how’s- er, how’s things?” John asked.

“Shit,” Roger replied bluntly.

“Anything else?”

“Well I’m not looking forward to another fucking long-winded ceremony to put some idiot hat on my head and arbitrarily make me the most important idiot int he country. I know it sounds really ignorant coming from me, I know I really am lucky to have been born as this, but I wish I could have just been born on a farm or something. I haven’t the first idea how I’m going to do the job without going mad,” Roger ranted. 

“Well in theory you’d have the power to allot that power more evenly, yeah?”

“I _hope_ I do, I can _never_ go back to living the way I was in Ozryn. Or live like my dad did. I’d hope my legacy once I die will be a good one.”

“How are you dealing with this, though?”

Roger looked at him for a long moment. John was the first person to ask Roger how _he_ was doing. And the sincerity in John’s eyes made it clear it wasn’t out of formality. Roger shied away, opting to stare into the fire instead.

“It’s… weird, more than anything. He was never very enthusiastic about being a father, and if anything it was the others who raised me, I don’t even remember the last normal conversation I had with him. I don’t even know what I ought to say about him.” Roger sighed. “I have good memories with him, but none of them are very recent. He got a lot less interested in being a dad as time went on.”

“Have you any good memories of him?”

Roger paused for a moment. 

“I remember when I was a kid he would let me into his chambers while he worked, and he’d let me have sweets when I hung around his study. And he used to tutor me himself, he taught me to read, and to speak the language of his old country, that’s something fond,” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I did more with the others, cause after my mum died he didn’t want to see us anymore,” he continued. “He tried to, but he couldn’t bear to even look at Claire a lot of the time. I don’t know if you heard or remember, but she died shortly after having my sister. So we probably reminded him of what happened and he couldn’t handle it anymore”

“Yeah, that’s awful. After my dad died my mum kind of shut down for a while, but she had to work the fields so she didn’t have as much time for it. I guess for him he had no escape from it,” John sympathized. 

“You’re right, he just festered in it the rest of his life. I hope he made a little peace with it before he died,” Roger choked out, looking away to hide the few tears beginning to flood his eyes. 

He took a moment to steady his voice. He didn’t need John to see him cry again. 

“I really still am not quite sure what I’m going to do about the marriage thing,” he sighed, taking a swig of John’s drink without a care that it was John’s drink. 

“Have you narrowed it down at all?”

Roger looked at John over the top of the glass, raising an eyebrow to silently ask him if he really just asked that. John laughed and played with the ribbon on his book.

“Do you have to get married to one of the candidates?” John asked quietly, an uncharacteristic shyness fell over him.

“It’s the law,” Roger said dejectedly.

“But you’re the king now. Couldn’t you just… change the law?” John’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid the portraits on the wall would hear him. Or maybe he was just afraid that Roger would hear him.

Roger’s heart pounded in his chest. It felt like they were talking about much more than just laws and customs. He put down his drink on the small coffee table, the clattering glass against the wood giving away the shake in his hand.

“Theoretically,” was all Roger managed to get out.

“And theoretically…” John played with the pages of his book until Roger was sure they would rip. “Would you?”

“I would.” Roger finally found his voice. “I would if- if theoretically I had already found someone who wasn’t on the list.”

“And have you?”

“You tell me.”

Roger didn’t have time to answer, as seconds later John’s lips were on his. 

The prince froze, his shock struck him so deeply he forgot to breath. When Roger didn’t react, John stopped and pulled away.

“Wait- that was-,” Roger laughed. He felt a pleasant little flutter in his chest at the realization that his first real kiss was with John. 

“Good or bad?” John blurted out in the most nervous sounding voice Roger had ever heard from him. 

Roger answered by pulling him into another kiss. 

The prince moved into a more comfortable position, leaning his whole body against John; who only encouraged him with a gentle hand on his back. 

The pair leaned against each other in a way so unfamiliar to both of them, but it felt right. It was so still the only noise in the room was the crackling fire and their breathing. 

Neither of them had a care in the world about protocols or duty, content with the quiet intimacy. The awkward conversation of what they were, or how they would navigate the rigid world of royalty weighed them down, but that could be put off. 

“I think I love you,” Roger admitted so quietly John could barely hear it.

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoping my inexperience with romance isnt shining through lmao.
> 
> A WORD ON THE TAPESTRY I MENTIONED DURING THE FUNERAL SCENE: i had this kinda cool idea but no real natural way to integrate it in the story. so basically in this fake pretend country, its a tradition for everyone to have a big piece of cloth that through their lives they sew in symbols or photos or anything you can put on a tapestry whenever they do something important: like get married, graduate, move house, or take a trip, anything the person deems important and then that tapestry is buried with them like a funeral shroud is irl (but for some people like the king it is not buried with them, rather kept on display in a mausoleum or something). the idea is you want to have a full life, and you track it on this, kinda. if i ever rewrite or edit this im gonna find a way to squeeze this in naturally lol
> 
> if you liked this, please leave a comment i live for them B) i really hope you guys are enjoying this im working my fingers off on this lol.

**Author's Note:**

> I HOPE THAT WAS GOOD LOL anyway i have most of the rest written i just gotta sew it together and write a little more hhahahahahahah...... idk when that will be out but i hope this caught ur interest. thank u for reading :))))) comments are my lifeblood :)))))))))))))
> 
> i promise it gets gayer and more interesting after this shhhhhh
> 
> ALSO THIS WAS BETA READ BY AteYellowPaint on here!!! she is an amazing writer and i am endlessly thankful to her for reading this over. go read their stuff right now- wait actually don't leave read her stuff after you've done mine. thank u pinky : D


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